


My hands are small, I know, but they’re not yours…

by Thymesis



Series: Star Wars Rare Pairs Collection (NC-17) [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Incest, Angst and Humor, Disability, Exchange Assignment, F/M, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Use of the Force, POV Alternating, Sibling Incest, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thymesis/pseuds/Thymesis
Summary: Luke’s new prosthetic is perfect in every conceivable way…except one.Fortunately, Leia is prepared to lend a helping hand.





	My hands are small, I know, but they’re not yours…

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karyatid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karyatid/gifts).



> The title of this story is from the song “[Hands](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfsS3pIDBfw)” by Jewel.
> 
> Posted to the exchange on November 17, 2017.

_Her shoulders are narrow, her hands small, yet General Leia Organa bears the heavy burden of the Resistance leadership all by her lonesome._

_Life hadn’t always been painful like that._

_She used to have Luke._

_He was always right there, fighting the good fight for the galaxy at her side. For decades, they’d held up half of the sky for each other._

_Until he wasn’t. Until he left._

***

Luke couldn’t sleep.

He checked the wall chrono. The ship would be deep into its rest cycle by now, but he was less than halfway through a mandatory 72 standard hour observation period that was keeping him confined to the medbay.

Although 2-1B had assured him that life-threatening complications arising from his new prosthetic hand were rare, there was a long list of them, and they’d all sounded sufficiently technical and scary that he had raised not the slightest peep of protest about this temporary restriction on his freedom of movement.

So, at the moment, the only immediate threat to his wellbeing was boredom, and Leia had been kind enough to lend him her personal datapad to keep him occupied. Loaded onto its memory bank, he’d discovered:

ONE) A mathematical puzzle game that, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how to play.

TWO) 417,981 works of prose and poetry from the Galactic Republic’s high-classical period. After a series of increasingly creative keyword searches for anything pornographic, Luke had decided he didn’t want to read about Mirialan courtship rituals, Ithorian “crises,” Zeltron chemosynthetic-signaling, or the myriad techniques one sufficiently motivated Human male might employ to “know” another Human male sexually. Apparently you could take the boy off the moisture farm, but you couldn’t take the moisture farm out of the boy. What Aunt Beru used to refer to as “improving” literature was thoroughly wasted on him.

THREE) Leia’s favorite alternative news outlets, all conveniently organized into a single, constantly updating feed enumerating example after example of the evils of Palpatine’s Empire. Service workers rioting in the Coruscanti underlevels. A university professor executed for criticizing the Imperial Navy’s response to dissident attacks. Child slave auctions and trade on the Outer Rim. The barrage of news blasts had just made him feel angry—angry at the injustice and angrier still that he was unable to _do_ anything about any of it. He didn’t understand how Leia could stand to read this stuff every day without going insane.

Yoda had warned him repeatedly that frustration and anger would lead him down a permanent path to the dark side of the Force.

Needless to say, Luke had switched off the datapad and tossed it aside in disgust. The last things he needed were further frustration and anger.

He was managing to cook up plenty of those all by his lonesome anyway.

Darth Vader was his father. Yes. It _felt_ true. Funny how Ben Kenobi had never seen fit to mention it. Neither had Yoda. Nor Uncle Owen, for that matter—had the Lars family known as well?! If so, Luke’s entire childhood had been one big, fat lie.

Not that, if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he felt all grown up or anything. He’d thought victory in the Battle of Yavin had made him a responsible adult, but he’d been wrong about that too. Yoda had been right: He’d left Dagobah before completing his training in order to save his friends, and instead, he’d fallen into Vader’s trap. His recklessness and impulsivity had endangered their lives, and Han’s future was uncertain as a consequence.

All told, he was lucky Leia was still on speaking terms with him, let alone lending him her datapad.

Luke glanced up at the wall chrono again. A mere six minutes had passed. He groaned and let his head fall back onto his pillow with a huff.

Ugh, big mistake. The pillow was flimsiplast-thin, and that had actually hurt. By Tatooine’s Twin Sun Gods, this medbay bed was worse than a rock! Luke tossed and turned and twisted, trying but failing to find a comfortable position. At this rate, he’d be spending the entire 72 hours awake, and then he would be in no good shape to assist in the preparations to rescue Han. He really needed to unwind and get some rest.

What to do? What to do?

Well, he could always… Hmm.

Luke cast his eyes warily around the medbay. Various automated monitors blinked and beeped, but 2-1B had powered down for the rest cycle, and there was not a living being besides himself anywhere in sight. Anyone could come in at any time—it was the medbay, after all—but it shouldn’t take that long. The risk of getting caught was low.

The front of his pants were open before he could second-guess the wisdom of this course of action, and he was already half-hard with anticipation. Jerking off ought to take his mind off things he’d rather not think about for a while _and_ help him fall asleep. Two for the price of one. His eyes drifted shut; nothing like the old reliable of his own right hand—

Or not.

Oh Gods, this just felt…wrong. Bizarrely, horribly, nightmarishly _wrong_. Was it the coldness of the synthskin or the buzzing whirl of tiny internal servomotors against the sensitive shaft of his penis that made it as sexy as getting a hand job from Threepio? Or was it that the warm weight of the (mostly) flaccid penis stimulating the artificial nerve endings in his prosthetic hand as if it belonged someone else? Maybe it was both. How can you touch yourself and not feel like you’re touching yourself?!

Different parts of Luke’s body had become veritable strangers to each other.

Not knowing whether to be more shocked or annoyed, Luke switched to his left hand. Ah, that was better. At least now he felt like himself to himself again.

But after a minute or two of determined left-handed stroking, a new tide of frustration was rising and threatening to sweep him away: He’d never jerked off with his left hand before, and now he realized he couldn’t do it. The backwardness, the awkwardness of the rhythm, it was almost as unnatural to him as the prosthetic!

Luke growled. Okay, so maybe this wouldn’t be a quick masturbation session. But no matter. No one had disturbed him yet, and at this rate, he figured no one was going to. He’d take his time with this and pass some _quality_ time with his favorite fantasies.

Like Leia.

Ah, strong, beautiful Leia. Her lips would be full and soft when she kissed him, and they would part involuntarily with pleasure when he slid into her. She would be so hot, so wet, and she would push those pert, peaked nipples of hers into his chest as he began to thrust. Yes, yes…

No!

His thumbnail jabbed painfully into the flared edge of his glans. Jerking off left-handed wasn’t working. He switched back to his prosthetic right hand, but it was just as bad as before—worse, even, because those artificial sensors could actually detect the movement of the blood draining from his erection as it wilted.

Luke was starting to panic. What if he’d never be able to jerk off again?! For a young male barely out of his teens, this would be a fate worse than death. Vader should’ve just killed him outright and spared him this misery!

Out of sheer desperation, he rolled over onto his stomach, stuffed the thin medbay pillow underneath his hips, and attempted to hump it. That was as pleasant on the head of his penis as it had been on the back of his actual head—and liable to leave him sore later—but perhaps it would be sufficient.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and summoned his fantasies. They were going to be absolutely necessary if he was ever going to orgasm, dammit. Leia beneath him, Leia on top of him, Leia giving him a blowjob, Leia biting her arm to muffle her cries as he sucked relentlessly on the swollen button of her clitoris—

Luke groaned and sobbed as he thrust downward. It wasn’t working.

No, it would work if he kept on thinking about Leia with all his might. LeiaLeiaLeiaLeia _Leia_ —!

“Seven Heavens, Luke, what’s wrong?!”

***

_The blue glow of the completed holomap shows the way.  
_

_“Luke…!” Leia murmurs._

_A sudden, dizzying sensation of heat sweeps through her. It takes supreme effort not to tremble. Her pulse is racing; her legs are wobbling.  
_

_Leia retreats from the war room to the privacy of her office as quickly as she is able._

_She has responsibilities to the Resistance, and there are important tasks to delegate, decisions to be made, but she doesn’t want anyone to see her cry._

***

This was either a dream or a nightmare: Leia was standing in the medbay.

“Something— I could feel you calling out for me in my head, and I knew you needed me and that I had to find you. What’s going on? Is there some sort of emergency?! I came as fast as I could.”

And indeed she must have done exactly that. She was wearing open-toed slippers and a simple, sleeveless white shift that bared the graceful bow of her collarbone. Her hair was unbound, falling in messy locks past her waist. She must have sprinted all the way from her quarters, a dozen decks and three kilometers distant, because she was panicked, out of breath. Luke could see the outline of her breasts through the filmy shimmersilk as her chest heaved.

“No, no, it’s nothing. No emergency,” he mumbled. He felt his cheeks flushing what he knew would be an ugly crimson. This was beyond humiliating. At least he’d been on his belly when she’d arrived and therefore she couldn’t see his (still unsatisfied) erection. He buried his face into the mattress and let fly a string of Huttese obscenities.

“What’s going on?” Leia asked again, calmer this time, diplomatically ignoring his cursing. “It’s all right. You can tell me.” A gentle hand reached out and touched his shoulder.

Luke jerked his shoulder away. “No. It’s…it’s stupid.”

“You’re sweating. It’s not nothing. _Tell me_.” Leia’s voice had taken on that particular tone of stubborn implacability. Her Princess voice. She wasn’t ever going to let the matter drop now.

And Luke knew when he wasn’t going to win. “It’s this,” he began, waving his new right hand in Leia’s direction. “Top of the line prosthetic, perfect in every way, does everything a real hand would do…except I cantmasturbatewithit.”

Silence. Painful silence. Until finally—

“You know, I’ve read stories about that from back during the Clone Wars. It happens. But it’s not permanent. You just have to…” Leia pauses and sighs, suddenly flustered. “Look, it’s like learning to walk again. Practice. Remaster the skill.”

“I have to relearn how to jerk off?! Are you joking?!” In his incredulity, Luke forgot his embarrassment.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Kill me.”

More silence.

“Is that what you were doing before? Jerking off?” Leia asked at last. She was being careful, neutral, and non-judgmental.

Luke, for his part, just rolled his eyes.

“And you were thinking about me.” Okay, _that_ wasn’t a question. Fuck!

Leia sat down on the edge of Luke’s bed. Her hand returned to Luke’s shoulder, and this time he didn’t try to shake it off. “Well, you’ve officially woken me up, and now here I am. Like Bespin.” There was a hint of affectionate exasperation in her tone.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said. His contrition was genuine. “This is not a life or death situation. You should go back to your quarters—”

“Do you want some assistance?”

—and go back to sleep…wait, _what?!_ ”

Leia smirked. “I asked you if you wanted some assistance, since I presume I was being summoned for that particular reason. C’mon. Roll over.”

“No,” Luke muttered.

“Please roll over.”

“No.”

“Seven Heavens, Luke, give me some credit; I know what a penis looks like. I said roll over!” Leia snapped, temper flaring.

At the end of the day, in spite of everything that he had accomplished for the Rebellion, Leia Organa was a Crown Princess of Alderaan and a former member of the Imperial Senate, while Luke Skywalker was just a farm boy who’d spent the first nineteen years of his life (reluctantly) doing whatever he was told. Old habits were hard to break, and with a wince, he obeyed.

The loose tunic and pants given to him by the medbay droid were both open in the front, and his erection lay flat on his stomach, pointed straight up towards his navel.

“You’ve got a nice one,” Leia remarked with undisguised admiration, her big brown eyes fixed on the rosy tip peeking out from behind the spreading foreskin. “It’s pretty.”

Luke didn’t appreciate being called “pretty” under normal circumstances…except maybe by Leia. These weren’t normal circumstances, though, and when she wrapped her slender fingers boldly around Luke’s shaft, lifting it off his abdomen, he keened wordlessly and almost achieved orgasm right then and there.

“Whoops,” Leia murmured, withdrawing her hand at hyperspeed. “That would have been counterproductive.”

After a not inconsiderable amount of awkward negotiation and maneuvering, they finally settled into a reasonably comfortable position on the unreasonably uncomfortable medbay bed, with Luke on his back, his head resting on the crook of Leia’s left arm, and Leia reclining at his side, one of her legs resting casually on top of his knees.

“Okay, hold yourself,” Leia instructed. She was all business.

Luke obeyed, trying not to wince at the alien unpleasantness of his own touch…or the intensity of Leia’s gaze on him.

Then Leia placed her right hand over his prosthetic, lacing their fingers together around his shaft. Together, they began slowly stroking, foreskin sliding up and down over the slick glans, and it was…better. Although the different parts of Luke’s body still felt like strangers to each other, they definitely liked being touched by Leia. The warmth of her palm on the back of his hand, the warmth of her fingers on his erection—both parts of him adored her.

Gradually and by mutual, unspoken agreement, the pace of their stroking began to accelerate. He was getting thicker now, more swollen, and his foreskin was stretched low and tight, no longer mobile. Leia played with the minute beads of fluid he was leaking, spreading them on the flesh around his slit and making him tense and whine. Gods, she was gorgeous! And she was here—every lonely dream, every secret fantasy, made sweetly, exquisitely real. He was getting close, so close, and he desperately wanted—needed—to come—

Leia’s hand gripped his tightly, and with one more assertive stroke from base to tip, the tension broke. Oh, _Leia—!_ He was coming at last, and his semen was pumping out of him, and even better than the familiar pleasure of release was the relief and the gratitude: Relief that he could still jerk off, and gratitude that the woman he cared about most in the galaxy had been there to help him through it—

—who was quivering and whimpering into Luke’s shoulder.

“Leia?”

“Ooooooohhhhh…Luke…” she moaned, her breath shaky and whistling through her teeth. “I-I _felt_ that.”

Somehow, she had shared his orgasm…through the Force? Was that possible?

She lifted her head from his shoulder and faced him. Her cheeks were wet. She had been weeping.

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to—” Luke began to apologize.

“Shhh,” Leia interrupted. Giggling a little, mischief in her expression despite the tears hanging from her lashes, she urged Luke’s hand off of his now spent erection and up towards her mouth. Then she licked delicately at the semen coating it. Her pink tongue was both wicked and thorough in its cleaning, and she held his eyes the entire time. Nothing he had ever seen—or felt—was more erotic, and with the sharpest clarity of insight he knew that he would never have problems jerking off with his prosthetic hand again.

All he’d have to do in the future was remember Leia.

He really ought to say or do something to reciprocate properly, he realized, to make the occasion as special for her as it had been for him, but the orgasm’s afterglow was doing its originally intended job, and his body was becoming rubbery and relaxed, and his eyelids felt weighted down by ten banthas apiece. The last thing he felt before sleep took him was Leia pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

***

_They’re older now, of course, and this happens rather less frequently than it used to._

_In her solitude, Leia opens wide to the Force and allows herself to_ feel _it. To surrender._

_Involuntary tears begin to fall._

_Even now, Luke pleasures himself to the memory of Leia’s hands—and as always, his need calls out to her across the vastness of space._

_For the first time in a very, very long time, though, Leia knows where to go to find him._

 

END


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